


Manifest Destiny

by Jonathan_Sable



Category: Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Blood, Canon, Death, Drug Use, F/M, Frenemies, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Korriban, Love/Hate, Male-Female Friendship, Masochism, Past Abuse, Past Violence, Sex, Sith Academy, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-03
Updated: 2018-05-17
Packaged: 2019-05-01 05:15:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14513343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jonathan_Sable/pseuds/Jonathan_Sable
Summary: Sudol, A Sith Inquisitor, finds the path to the dark side leads to many things: Love, Friendship, Power, Glory, Tragedy, Death. They all play a part in her rise to power.





	1. Arrival

**Author's Note:**

> This work is loosely rooted to the Sith Inquisitor storyline, but diverges from it in many areas. Some OC’s used with permission from their creator (and thanks from me!)

The Imperial shuttle dropped out of hyperspace just above an orange-red colored dustball of a planet. Korriban--former heart of the Sith Empire--now, just a desolate tomb world full of nothing but mouldering artifacts, Sith scholars and sorcerers scrabbling for any advantage those things might grant them, and the Sith Academy. Now that she saw it, Sudol thought even less of it. Why the Empire had spent resources recapturing this place was a mystery to her.

The shuttle had been a welcome silence since leaving the fleet. The other Acolytes she traveled with seemed nervous beyond words which suited her fine. She had no desire for small-talk. Now that Korriban was in sight and growing larger in their minds by the second as they made their approach, the other Acolytes became restless. They ooh-ed and ahh-ed, one trembled, another audibly crying. Sudol simply sat stoic and unmoved. Just another shipful of fools travelling to a whole planetful of even bigger ones.

Korriban had once been homeworld to the Sith. Being a full-blooded Sith herself, Sudol saw no reason to fear this place. Miserable and desolate it may be. Dangerous, certainly--to some, not to her. This was simply a stepping-stone; a gateway to opportunity. In that sense, it was more an inconvenience than anything else. As such, Sudol simply sneered at the face of it. The viewports were now filled with red-orange sandy hills and crags contrasted by a dirty yellow sky. The cabin already felt stuffier.

The shuttle made its approach to one of the less crumbly temples and touched down. The cabin door opened with a blast of hot dry air. The smell of heat and decay assaulted the new acolytes, and dust was already collecting on the exit ramp.

The Sith hopefuls were filed into a room, if it could even be called such, as it only had walls on three sides. The rest was open to the harsh Korriban elements. Sudol felt the sweat collecting in the small of her back, but she wasn’t uncomfortable. After all, this was once her people’s homeworld. The rest of the acolytes looked worse for the wear. They gaped at their surroundings, wide-eyed, sweat beading on their dumb-struck faces. She was sure one of them had soiled themselves. They’d be dead by sundown most likely. Food for the K’lor slugs.

After a terse introduction, they were turned loose to find their way to the Academy proper, which was through a tomb still occupied by K’lor slugs, and other Acolytes looking to make names for themselves. Sudol didn’t wait for instructions. She didn’t need to. Destiny awaited.

She made her way through the tunnels, which though cooler than the outside, stank like mold and burnt flesh. She made it through with little incident. Some imperial troops struggled with grave robbers, though she couldn’t figure out why. There wasn’t anything here worth having. A few of the slugs got in her way, which she dispatched without too much trouble. They were mindless things, undeserving of her scorn, but obstacles nonetheless and so must be dispatched. When she emerged into the light again, she was alone. None of the other acolytes who’d arrived with her were anywhere to be seen. Screams echoed in the caves behind her. This was the future of the Sith? No wonder the Jedi still held on to a tenuous stalemate.

As she approached the academy temple, people bustled about on various errands related to the Academy. Imperial troopers patrolled for robbers or rogue slugs driven out of their caves by hunger. This was undoubtedly where troops were sent as punishment for some transgression. Also there were other acolytes. These eyed her with suspicion or mild interest. A few stared with thinly veiled disgust at another newcomer. Let them stare. Soon enough she would be above all of this. Once she left Korriban, she’d come back as a Dark Lord. She would show them all.

Inside, the academy was climate controlled, but the atmosphere was no less oppressive. Everywhere, acolytes were being pushed to their limits. Those who weren’t training were plotting against each other or groveling before their masters. Anything to gain favor. Well, the Masters and Overseers would get no such pleasure from Sudol. She wouldn’t give them anything of herself any more than she had to. She would learn what she needed and shake the dust from her feet as she left. As far as she was concerned, she was already on her way out.

Overseer Harkun had a much different impression.

Somehow, through means that Sudol couldn’t even begin to understand, the Overseer knew her personal history. Facts about Sudol that she’d worked tirelessly to keep buried were now potential weapons against her. He didn’t come right out and say it, but he hinted at things, made insinuations, subtle digs at her upon their first meeting. She was sure he knew. That meant he had to die. But not yet.

First, she would have to deal with other acolytes.

Young fools from the outer rim, or young fools from Dromund Kaas, it made no difference. She knew she was better than any of them, and they hated her for it. 

Her first time out alone it happened. A group of acolytes jumped her.

Strictly speaking, the students at the academy were not supposed to murder each other, but it didn’t stop groups of desperate, pathetic individuals from banding together to remove the more serious competition from the field. “Accidents happen in the tombs,” Harkun had said as unsubtly as only a clod like him could manage. What a disgrace. 

The three in front of Sudol obviously thought they were enough to deal with her. How wrong they would turn out to be.

“We’ve heard things about you, Red-face,” the de facto leader said to her with a crude outer-rim accent. He spat on the ground. A tiny puff of dust rose where the moisture hit, only to be absorbed immediately by the thirsty sands of Korriban.

“Interesting,” She answered. “I’ve not heard anything about any of you. I suspect because there’s nothing worth knowing.”

They all drew vibro-swords. She stifled a laugh as they formed up to box her in. 

“I will warn you once,” she said, standing with her arms crossed. “Allow me to pass on my way unmolested, or face my wrath. You will not be mourned. You will not be remembered. This planet will forget you. And so will I.”

“You got a lot a nerve, bitch,” said… a different one, probably. They all looked and sounded the same. Weak. Common. Filthy. Unrefined.

“We was all slaves to people like you where I come from,” said another. “Red faced bastards thinking you’re better than everyone.”

“Prove me wrong,” she answered with a grin.

What followed was a blur. Sudol remembered the years she suffered at the hands of older children; bullies who singled her out because of her family. Often, 3 or 4 children at a time threatened her with acts of violence before inevitably making good on those threats. She learned quickly that these altercations need not be so one-sided. Something within had awoken, and she found she could hold her own against them through means she couldn’t control or understand. Often she still ended up bloodied and beaten, but not before leaving her opponents with something to consider next time. Eventually, these regular sessions stopped being so regular and Sudol gained special attention from one of her teachers. Through there, her path lead her to the academy.

These academy thugs were no different. They possessed very basic force skills, but nothing on the level of one with Sith blood in her veins. Coordinated though they were, Sudol was familiar with these tactics. Bullies were pretty much the same no matter where you went. She was also familiar with where the most acute pain receptors were on most Imperial species, and the correct amount of force to apply for the desired effect. She harnessed the hatred within, anger at years of torture at the hands of clumsy bullies like these who thought that intimidation was a mere matter of strength and numbers. They were all fools. Within moments all three of them were lying on the ground, disarmed, writhing in pain. One lie unconscious, the drab Korriban sands thirstily devouring the dark blood pouring from his broken nose.

“Another time perhaps,” Sudol sneered. She gingerly stepped over a body and continued on her way. She’d remember these faces. They would regret her seeing them a second time. If they even lived that long.

  
  
  
  



	2. Partnership

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sudol is forced to team up with another Sith hopeful. Will he help her complete her trials? Will she kill him before he can get the chance?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sith Warrior OC is used by permission and with thanks to his creator.

“Damn that Harkun!”, Sudol swore aloud as she geared up for another excursion into one of Korriban’s tombs. 

It was bad enough running these fool’s errands in the name of “Training”. Now she was to accompany another Sith hopeful into the worm-infested depths looking for old Imperial trinkets. Overseer Harkun must want her to kill this fool or be killed by them. That’s the only logical explanation. She’d succeeded every test so far on her own, and didn’t see any reason why she would need help.

Nevertheless, she obeyed. Willful she might be, and arrogant (She’d been told that a number of times, but saw no reason not to be.), but she wasn’t insubordinate. If they wanted some slack-jawed recruit to get themselves killed on her watch, it suited her fine. Death happened during training on Korriban, and not always on accident. What was one more loss?

She waited patiently outside the temple watching the red-brown sand-stained faces moving past. Most were soldiers and servants. The rasping of sand against boots rose and fell as each figure ambled past. A few higher level Sith passed by now and then on their way to and from the spaceport. They were easy to spot by their elaborate and well-maintained robes. Many wore masks. Those who didn’t bore the marks of darkside use: dark circles around the eyes, a general pallor, the first signs of overexertion or of not being strong enough as far as Sudol was concerned. Sith purebloods like her didn’t get pale or gaunt. They only grew stronger. A deeper red to the skin, a brighter orange to the eyes; these were the signs that the pure-blooded red-skinned Sith were the only ones designed for true dark side sorcery. Sudol imagined herself in Lord’s robes on some mission to the temple, no doubt to dress down that awful Harkun for his failings as an Overseer, of which there were many by her estimation.

As she lost herself in thought, one of the dirty-faced rabble approached her. Another young human acolyte, he had sandy blonde hair made even sandier by Korriban’s hot, dry winds. He was thin, but muscular, and stood a full foot taller than Sudol. His dark colored gear dust-smudged from use bore the look of a potential warrior’s, much heavier than her acolyte’s robes. They tended toward more physical, inelegant means of subduing the creatures in the caves. His face bore a lazy expression, almost as if bemused by life in general. 

“Waiting for me?” he asked her casually--A bit too casually for Sudol’s liking.

“Why would anyone possibly be waiting for you?” she shot back, irritated by waiting, by sand, and by the hot Korriban sun. This must be the hapless idiot they sent to “help”.

He didn’t say anything, just shrugged his shoulders and turned around. He turned in the direction of Marka Ragnos, the tomb they were to rob in the name of training together. He started off in the direction of their mission. Sudol watched him for a moment waiting for him to turn around and apologize to her. When he didn’t, she stormed after him, her robes flapping to match her mood.

“How dare you turn your back on me?” she demanded.

He didn’t slow his pace or even acknowledge her. One corner of his mouth turned up in a smirk.

“What’s funny?” She spat.

“You,” he answered.

She practically heard the rage rising, a rushing sound in her ears. Her saber was out in a flash, humming and crackling as particles of dust made contact with the blade. Finally, hearing her weapon, he stopped. Good. She had his attention. Still, he did not turn, simply stood. 

“Are you coming, or not?” he asked, then stepped forward once more into his lack-a-daisical pace.

Having had her fill of his insolence, Sudol decided she did not, nor did the Sith Empire need this filth in its ranks. She struck with her saber. It met his blade with a loud crash. Without turning around, he had parried her strike, then in one deft move he disarmed her, the saber hilt flipping end-over-end behind her. She called it back to her hand and reignited it, ready to block his counterattack. By the time she was ready, he had already turned away once more, and headed for the tomb.

She hissed and gave chase. Striking at him again, Sudol found the results largely the same. Once again, he turned her attack aside as though it were nothing. This time he faced her.

“Best not waste your energy. Nasty things down there.” He shook his head. “NAS-ty. Though I think you have them matched for nastyness.” He grinned, obviously satisfied with himself for his banal turn of phrase. This time she didn’t take the bait. 

Sudol put her hilt away and looked more carefully at this rude and irreverent figure who seemed, after all, to have an aptitude for the saber. Sure enough, on closer inspection she saw them. Scars on his armor, carbon scoring from sabers, slight bruising on one cheek; there was more to this person than he let on. He irritated her, that much was sure. As irritating as he was, he had admirable skills. This person was perhaps a duelist, and the fact that he was alive and intact spoke to his quality. Her senses alert from their brief fight, (if it could be called that) she could feel the thrum of the Force within him. Different than hers, quieter, less chaotic, but strong and even. He had command of his emotions. But there was something else too, something she couldn’t quite place. Something taut like a spring ready to let loose.

“Well,” she said at last. “Let’s get on with this then.”

“What, you don’t want to fight anymore?” he asked. “Your second attack was better than the first, but only just.”

She simply walked past him in the direction of the tombs. She’d learned his game, and he wouldn’t get the better of her a second time. “The saber isn’t my strong suit,” she admitted, “But if I wanted you dead you would be.”

He smiled, the first real sign of emotion he’d given her since they met. “I see. I’d best watch my manners then,” he joked.

_ Insufferable. _ She thought to herself.

“You were just testing me then? To see if I was worthy?” he asked with fake earnestness.

“You aren’t” she said.

He laughed out loud at that, a single clear laugh. Laughter was seldom heard on Korriban save the laughter of the Sith overseers at the failure of their acolytes. It was strange to hear it now out in the barren ruins. Sudol couldn’t help but grin in spite of herself. Who was this person?

“Ecanus,” he offered. 

“What sort of name is that?” she asked.

“Mine,” he said.

They walked quietly for a beat as Sudol wondered how this enigma of a person wasn’t already dead. It was a testament to his combat skills that he was still alive with that attitude.

“I am Sudol,” she said. “But you will soon know me as Lord.”

“Really,” he said with mock wonderment. “I had no idea Lordships were offered to trainees. I shall have to get one for myself.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she said. “You’re not a true Sith. At best, you’re a soldier, and not even a good one.”

“I concede, I am not a true Sith,” he said. “Just the lowly son of Dromund Kaas nobility. I suppose I could already be considered a Lord, but alas, father is still alive.”

Sudol hid her surprise. A noble’s son, here? It must be a punishment. Most nobility with any Force powers trained in Kaas City with private instructors. They only sent the rest of the rabble to the crucible at Korriban; the poor, the slaves, the force-sensitive offspring of planets conquered by the Empire. The nobility didn’t want their precious seed left dead, mummified by the wastelands of the former Empire’s seat of power. They obsessed over legacy. 

Sudol didn’t want to think about that. It reminded her of her inauspicious life before the academy. She wouldn’t let this fool think her inferior.

“I’ll be one soon enough,” she said, convincing herself as much as anyone else. “They can sense my power. I’ll pass these trials as if they were nothing. You can take partial credit if you want, I won’t mind. If you survive that is.”

“I’ll try,” he said. That, he sounded like he meant.

“We’re here,” she said. The archway of the tombs lie ahead of her like the gaping mouth of a giant corpse.  _ That’s what this place is _ , she thought.  _ The decaying remains of what the Empire used to be. We are its future. I am its future. _

They entered together, the sounds of slithering beasts and the screams of acolytes before them echoing in their ears.   
  



	3. Debriefing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ecanus must suffer daily performance reviews from his Sith partner. But this time something is different.

Ecanus laid back against the firm use-worn vinyl of the booth at the back of the Cantina. Life at the Academy had been trying lately. He stared at the drink in front of him, a pale blue ale from… somewhere. It didn’t really matter what it was or where it was from. What he needed didn’t come in a glass.

He found the stim in his sand-stained mission bag. Visually, it was just a combat enhancement stim, the kind of stuff you’d find on any one of the Imperial troops roaming the grounds. It was a cocktail of stimulants and nerve agents designed to heighten your awareness and reflexes, weaken your pain sensitivity, whatever slight edge you needed in combat. Ecanus’s were a little different. These he had been getting regularly from off-world through some of his old friends on Dromund Kaas.

He injected the stim and the effects were almost instant. His cares fell away, and he sank into the cushion of his seat. He tasted the ale he had chosen. It was a vaguely sweet concoction, not terribly strong, but the stim made it so much better. Eyes closed, he let the drink roll around in his mouth a bit before swallowing, then breathed in slowly tasting the air that followed it. Good stuff.

When he opened his eyes again,  _ she _ was there, the Red Sith woman. Sudol, his sometimes partner in crime. Goody.

Since they had been forced to team up, they had proven a competent pair, at least in combat. With his saber prowess and her strength with the force, they had faced down most challenges without breaking a sweat. He enjoyed someone having his back in the field. It was much better than waiting for the knife to sink in. Or if it did, at least he’d know whose it was. The only problem was her insistent meetings after their days had ended. For “debriefing”. They hardly spoke in the heat of battle, or sifting clues in the dark of the tombs. She saved all her comments for these little sessions.

“Ecanus’s mistake parade” is what it should have been called because mostly she just listed what he’d done wrong or not to her liking. Not only what he had done wrong, but where he had done it, what he should have done, what could potentially go wrong if he did it again, and so on and so forth. She was worse than the overseers.  He looked forward to these little sessions as one would an appointment for dental work.

There she sat, straight-backed and rigid, hands folded in her lap. So formal, so proper for such an unbridled rage-monster. Her outward mannerisms hid well her seething raw nerves underneath. Her bright orange eyes bored into him. He could feel her, burning him with a look, waiting for him to acknowledge her. No wonder he’d started using stims more lately. He needed them to get through this.

“You were adequate today,” she said, finally. It almost sounded like a compliment and not her usual derisive commentary.

Ecanus sat up a little. “I’m sorry,” he said, sticking his fingers in his ears, pretending to clean them. “What was that again?”

She pursed her lips. Mostly, she didn’t have time for his humor. It only made the hornet’s nest that was presumably in her head buzz louder. “I said you were adequate,” she repeated. Her gaze left him as a waiter droid deposited a drink next to her. The pink beverage had a large-ish straw poking from the top. Ecanus knew that drink. She wasn’t going to like it.

“Wow” he said, sincerely taken by surprise. “High praise from Korriban’s most talented acolyte,” he mocked. “You sure there isn’t something you wish to criticise?”

“Only your current state,” she said, now holding the pink beverage in her delicate red-fingered grasp. “It sounds as though you can barely speak. How many drinks have you had?”

Gods, what a sanctimonious-- “Five,” Ecanus lied. He watched as she raised the straw to her lips and took a long sip. Her expression changed only slightly, but she swallowed hard. He watched her carefully. He’d had that drink before, on his first night at the academy. Someone had ordered it for him as a joke. It was vile; a thick fermentation made from K’lor slugs served warm. He didn't care to know what part of the slugs they used. He’d since learned it was some traditional Massassi brew that Dark Lords drank, presumably to show how little taste mattered to them. He shuddered remembering it.

On the surface, she showed no signs of revulsion, but he knew better. She was fighting it. He’d seen that look on her face before; in the depths of the old Sith tombs, and sometimes when he tried to joke with her. She’d made that drink her enemy. It was awful but it wouldn’t beat her. Nothing could get the better of the mighty Sudol. Sure enough, she took a second drink, daring it to be as awful as the first one. Ecanus had to look down lest she see the idiot grin on his face. He choked back a laugh. 

She smacked her lips. “Not bad,” she said. She lied as well as he did. Almost.

“Would you say it was…  adequate?” he asked, trying not to smile.

She glared at him. Uh-oh, was that too far? He hoped so.

She set the drink down, her eyes never leaving his. 

“You’re so funny aren’t you?” she said tilting her head, eyes narrow, her tone dripping with scorn. “Ecanus, the fool. Ecanus the comedian. You’ll do well on Nar Shaddaa with that wit. In the club full of drunken degenerates salivating into their awful cocktails.” She glanced sidelong at her own. Ecanus snuffed. She heard that. He braced for her to start really letting him have it, but her face softened. Ecanus watched with interest. He was in uncharted territory now. What was that look she wore? Could it be concern? Caring?

She looked down at her hands. She almost never averted her eyes from him when addressing him. It was a sign of weakness. “You could be great you know,” She admitted. What was happening here? Who is this person?

“I never tell you because you are already so insufferable, but you could be powerful.” Now she looked at him again. It wasn’t the steely-eyed gaze of the would -be inquisitor. In this moment, she was almost a regular person. “I would wager there are none here who could best you with a saber save perhaps the saber instructor himself--”

“Not even him,” Ecanus said with a wink. That stopped her cold. He saw the muscles in her jaw working. He’d gone and wrecked it. Of course. He wrecked most things eventually. She glared at him again now. The usual stacotto of her voice returned. The person was gone. The Sith Inquisitor was back. 

“You are wasting your potential. Together we could go far in a very short amount of time.” she said, the prim facade firmly in place again. He could see she was in earnest, though despite her tone. Normally these sessions were simply about dressing him down. She seemed to actually want him to do better, to continue working with her.

“Together?” he asked. “That’s not very Sith of you. Shouldn’t you be trying to destroy me? A potential rival?”

“I only destroy the weak and useless,” she said matter-of-factly. “The strongest of us ought to be lifted up. How else is the Empire to survive? Why else send us here to be refined, so that the weakest may perish leaving only the strong, the worthy?” What kind of stims was she on? He wanted to try them. 

“I suppose I’m glad that I’m not either of those things then,” he said. He took another sip of his drink, but the effect had worn off already. She couldn’t even let him enjoy that, could she?

“And what are you then?” she asked. “What kind of an acolyte comes here to be the best, tries very little, achieving more than most with minimal effort, and then drinks away his wits every night? Someone weak? Someone who is of no use?  _ Should _ I destroy you? Is that what you wish?” 

That stung. He knew what he was and why he was here. He’d told her as much. Rich boy, spoiled, wasted talents, disowned, came to Korriban to be the best, to teach them a lesson. Now look at him. Languishing. Stagnating. Addicted to stims. Getting lectured by a Red Sith with no sense of humor. He chewed his lip.

“What is it you want me to say?” He asked after a long silence.

“Only that you’ll stand up,” she said. “Come with me to Dromund Kaas. My trials are almost over. I have a Darth who will sponsor my missions there; a master. We could work together. Why be rivals when we could be partners? Why waste your talents when we could become powerful?”

Dromund Kaas, wonderful. The old stomping grounds. Hopefully he wouldn’t run into anyone he knew.

“Fine,” he said at last. “I guess I’m stuck with you then.”

She frowned. “Try not to act too happy about it,” she said and stood abruptly leaving some creds behind as she left. “I’ll send for you in the morning. Try to sober up.”

“Did-- did she just make a joke?” Ecanus asked the droid who had come to retrieve her half-finished glass of awfulness and her credits. The droid shrugged and clicked a few times before returning to the bar. “I think I’m rubbing off on her.”

Ecanus didn't leave the cantina immediately. He waited for the potency of the stim to wane a bit. While he waited he pictured her, her deep red face framed by deeper red hair, her gold accent jewelry, the spurs on her chin, her orange eyes that seemed to see into a person; she could almost be considered beautiful if she didn't open her mouth and ruin it. He thought of how she had looked for only a moment, when she had looked at him not like an inconvenience, but an equal. He thought about how he had so quickly torpedoed that moment with his own irreverence, and about what might have happened if he hadn't. 

Soon, the stim had sufficiently run its course and a lanky warrior acolyte left the cantina, walking gingerly so as not to look too intoxicated. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to Ecanus's creator for the roleplay that was the basis for this scene.


	4. Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On Dromund Kaas, a dark figure with an even darker past meets with an Imperial agent. What could they want with Sudol and Ecanus?

Morova Baraz straddled her companion, letting his heat slide into her. She moaned softly as she welcomed the familiar sensation. For the moment pain was forgotten and pleasure, familiar but rare, ruled her. She rocked back and forth and swiveled her hips, listening to their rhythmic heavy breathing; his and her own. She felt his hands upon her body. Her nails dug into his flesh. It was good. 

Very good.

Pictures drifted in and out of her mind; the same ones she saw every time. 

_ Back on Entuur, years ago, the trials were over. One final trial still remained for all Entuurans to begin training at Korriban. She received her markings. They burned. It was a searing heat, more like a brand than body art, and it never went away. It never stopped burning. She had chosen to take the marks on her face, a symbol of her commitment to the Dark Side for all to see.  _

_ “This will keep you attuned to the Bogan, Morova,” they said. “The pain will purify your thoughts, give you visions.” _

_ She was on her knees, clutching her face. The pain was powerful, but she accepted it, let it purify her. She was strong enough. She had known pain, would know greater pain. It would only make her stronger. She would never kneel again for anyone save the Emperor. _

_ She had waited for him. Her young betrothed was also receiving his mark that day. _

She heard herself say his name as, in the present, the climax built within her. 

Yes, very good.

_ They marked him across his forehead and down the cheek as he had requested. Like her he had wanted to wear his mark with pride. But she feared for him. His strength wasn’t the same as hers. When he practiced the pain rituals he never went as far as she did. He cried out more. The markings were different for everyone. He screamed then. He fought. They were unable to complete his markings. He wouldn’t stop screaming, fighting. He lasted through the trials only to fail at this last instant.  _

_ “Kill him, Morova,” they said. “He has failed, kill him.” They handed her the weapon. The Entuuran priests of the Bogan in their deep blue robes, masters of the trials of ascension, administers of the cleansing pain commanded and she obeyed.  _

_ “You will do it. You will kill him. He is not worthy.” _

_ She did.  _

_ She was worthy. The same pain that had been his doom had made her strong. So it had been with many before them. _

_ Morova proved herself worthy to go to Korriban, worthy to train. His death was not the first at her hands, and it would be far from her last. As a Sith, she would take many more lives. This was the only time she had destroyed something she truly loved. She would never feel his touch again. She would never feel him united with her, never again share the quiet indignity of physical love with a true friend, her love, her first and only. If she didn’t kill him, they would. They would make him suffer. She alone would show him the mercy of death. She would never love anything or anyone ever again. All she would know is pain and hate. She had seen it. The pain of the marking gave with it a vision of the future.  _

_ “Goodbye.” _

_ She mouthed the word as she slayed him, freeing him from his anguish, from the pain he couldn’t bear. She had been afraid he was not strong enough. Afraid he would fail. She was right. The force was with her. _

Back in the present, Morova’s climax came. It hit her in waves. For a moment, pain gave way to pleasure. It did not last. Her face burned. The pain cleansed as it always did. There was never any love, never anything but the pain.  The dark forces responded to her call. The young man’s body shook beneath her as she choked away his last breath.  _ Goodbye. _ She mouthed the word as she had those many years ago. She climaxed again as he died, and again and again, and each time as before the pain burned stronger.

The moment passed. She realized she had been screaming. Now all was quiet except the beating of her heart. 

He lay still. His heart no longer beat. 

Glistening, panting, she rose from him. His lifeless body lie limp in his bed. She’d broken him. Her legs, tired like rubber; she could barely walk.

She limped to the refresher, cleaned herself and dressed. 

Coming out, dressed in her Sith armor, her twin lightsabers at her side, she glanced at the dead man’s face. He stared up at the ceiling, face frozen in a mix of pleasure and terror. She gently closed his eyelids.  _ So like him. _ She traced her finger across his forehead, and down his cheek. 

_ So like him. _

She left him there dead, alone in her room. Pain and hate burned within her, a brief taste of bodily pleasure made them feel fresh and new. 

Out in the streets of Dromund Kaas, a thick fog had descended rendering streetlights and speeders streaking by as pale ghostly lights. The tall buildings of Kaas City loomed overhead casting darkness across the city square. Other bodies passed her in the streets, pale shadows in the mist as she walked to the meeting place. She stood beneath a lamp and attached a small device to the post. The lamp flickered and then went out. 

She stood in shadow as rain began to fall. The mists swirled, and a smell like hot stone and electricity came with the rain; the scents of Dromund Kaas. 

A few moments later, a maintenance speeder emerged from behind one of the Kaas City high rises and headed straight for the broken light. Gradually, its sharp outline materialized from out of the fog. It hummed to a stop behind her. A Chiss wearing oil-stained coveralls hopped out, and fastened on a tool belt. He strolled over holding a new micro-reactor battery and squatted down next to the lamp post, igniting a work light. The cool rain was plinking on the metal shade of the lamp in a chaotic rhythm. 

“Not afraid of the dark, I hope,” the Chiss said in a smooth even voice. His blood red eyes shimmered in the glare of the work light.   He had already removed the service panel of the lamp and was disconnecting the old battery. 

“Fear makes us strong,” she replied. “What news of our friend Darth Zash?” The Chiss didn’t look up as he worked. Morova didn't sense any fear from this one. He was always difficult to read. 

“She’ll be returning to Kaas soon,” he said, “With a new acolyte in tow. Red Sith. Very promising.”

“Find out what you can of this Red Sith and their history. They could be made to serve our ends.” Morova watched the Chiss’s skilled hands replacing the battery, closing the access port. His hands could serve her well. But no, she needed him still, and her appetites tended to burn through resources rather quickly. The leaders of The Cabal would be put out, and the Mistress especially tended to be rather expressive with her anger.

The Chiss finished up and the light flickered back to life. “Until next time,” he said and briskly returned to his speeder. 

“Wait,” she said, “upstairs. There is something wrong with my room.” The Chiss turned and looked at her. His red eyes flicked to the mark on her face and back to her eyes again. She always noticed when they looked at her mark. “There is something there that needs fixing,” she said. She wondered what he thought of her, if she was lovely or frightening, or possibly both.

He nodded knowingly. She tried to read his expression. Was it disgust? Annoyance? She couldn’t tell. He was a blank slate most of the time. Even reaching out, she still sensed very little from him. Perhaps he wouldn't be so good at pleasing her after all. He took a seat in the speeder, filled in something on a datapad, and started it up. He said nothing more. The speeder hummed away back where it came from.

Just then the rain increased, turning to a heavy shower, but Morova didn’t move from her spot. She was drenched from head to toe before she decided to leave. By then the cooling rains and the quiet of the Kaas City streets had calmed her. The mark’s burning had lessened to a throbbing heat. She touched the bottom of her mark at the corner of her mouth. The electrodes in the tips of her glove reacted with the implanted chemicals. 

She breathed deeply, letting the pain wash over her. The effect was only temporary, but it granted her a glimpse of the future. She saw a deep red Sith face, orange eyes burning with hate and anger. Zash’s apprentice maybe? She saw another, a lanky warrior. His sword flashed, but in his eyes she only saw sadness.

The vision ended. 

Morova looked around her. She was alone in the dark streets, lights reflecting in the wet surfaces. the fog still lingered giving everything a dreamlike appearance. It might be considered beautiful if she didn’t hate this place to its very foundations.  

She walked to the cantina for a strong drink. Perhaps when she went back upstairs her room would already be empty. The agent and his associates were always quick and efficient. He was good. 

Very good.

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to, among others, the Creators of the Cabal guild on the now defunct Ebon Hawk server. You know who you are. Also, my friend who's brilliant agent character informs my interpretation of every agent since.


	5. Dossiers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An Imperial Cipher is working for a clandestine organization that aims to reforge the Empire. What use can he find for a warrior trainee and an apprentice Inquisitor?

Cipher Twelve entered his small apartment still dressed in maintenance worker’s coveralls. The meeting with that awful woman had left him in bad spirits, so he had driven the streets of Kaas City in the rain before returning. His disgust had to pass before he could log his report. Officially, his mission in Kaas City was surveilling another Sith who was thought to be a double-agent for the Republic, but in between that assignment he’d been working with the other one, that detestable woman with the facial art. (He had, in fact, discovered weeks ago that the double-agent wasn’t an agent of any kind, but he had continued to find reasons to tail him on Dromund Kaas in order to stay assigned there.)

He removed the filthy workman’s outfit and folded it neatly before stowing it in a slot beneath a neat arrangement of shoes. It felt silly fussing over such a garment, but he was a creature of habit. Everything has its place.  Next, he did his sweep of the room as always, first behind lighting fixtures and under furniture--the most obvious places--then behind his art and inside the drawers. The desk and his bed were where he spent the majority of his time while here, so the rest of his apartment was bare save for one piece of wall art: a painting of a mountain range on Csilla. His sweep came up empty.

Next he showered, something he always did after returning from the field. One never knew what kind of evidence you were leaving behind in your residence. Best to keep that to a minimum. He stared at himself in the mirror as he dried himself. His deep crimson eyes stared back at him. What did they see in that blue face of his? Satisfaction? Impatience? No, it was nothing. He never gave anything away through expression. He’d trained himself hard, possibly harder than any other skill, to get this one down. Never let them see what you’re thinking.

He booted up his work station and its glow cast long shadows across the floor, as the only other illumination came from the refresher. His window shade was always drawn. He slid on a fresh set of his form-fitting undergarments and sat down at the sparse desk where his workstation sat, retrieving a bottled water from the climate controlled cabinet next to his seat. He typed in his passcode and immediately changed it again, something he did almost every day. There was a revolving sequence of alphanumerics that corresponded to the date and the weather and a handful of other variables that he used to keep his log in ever-changing.

He signed in to the Imperial Intelligence Database report submittal form and began.

>0900 - attempted to locate target, appears to be off-world still. Travel logs at spaceport did not report his return.

>1030 - Followed target’s associate, a Mandalorian hired muscle. Nothing of note to report, just some errands and a meeting at the Nexus cantina. Meeting appeared purely social.

>1400 - Suspended mission activity for physical training at this residence’s public gym.  

>1600 - Checked spaceport again, nothing new

>1730 - Visited Nexus cantina to liaise with some underworld contacts. No news of target.

Now came to the part where he’d have to lie. He wasn’t on official business when he’d met “Face Woman” as he’d taken to calling her in his head. Imperial agents were loyal to the Empire, but this Empire was sick, broken. “Face Woman” was a part of that brokenness even though she professed to be fighting against it. When he found himself in the employ of “The Cabal” (a rather on-the-nose name for a clandestine organization if you asked him) he had expected to work with a few reprehensible characters. Revolution didn’t happen quickly and it was messy work. However, he never expected to work with someone like Face Woman. She was abominable. Crass, lustful, violent. He didn't like to think of what she got up to in her spare time. He felt her eyes on him like the clammy tentacles of a Huttese swamp squid.

Once he’d completed his report with a bogus set of unverifiable tasks, he turned his focus back to his real reason for being on Dromund Kaas--his work with The Cabal. He had been requested dossiers on Darth Zash’s new apprentice and her companion.

First, he pulled up the companion, the male human with lazy eyes.  He was a typical Kaas legacy, born rich to awful rich parents who sent him to affluent boarding school until he was kicked out, then to another somewhat less affluent boarding school where he barely passed his secondary education. From there he’d gotten into trouble with the Imperial police for lightsaber dueling. Curious. That kind of crime was one of those that is officially illegal, but rarely enforced unless there is some ulterior reason. There wasn’t any more information about it. He’d have to investigate.

Finally, a disgrace to the family, he was disowned, and sent to Korriban for Sith training. They probably assumed he’d die there as so many did. It wasn’t just a training ground, it was also a well-known place to send people you wanted to disappear. He probably had attempts made on his life there, but such things were commonplace on Korriban, and only investigated if the Overseers cared enough to, which was rare.

He seemed to have made a name for himself with his saber skills, and attracted the attention of this other one. Cipher Twelve pulled up the information on Zash’s apprentice.

A Pureblooded Sith, this one had been part of a rivalry between pureblooded families on a remote Imperial controlled planet. One family had plotted against the other for decades, before finally one wiped out the other in a bloodbath. She was only a child at the time, and a member of the losing family. She was taken into indentured servitude as a final insult to her slain parents. No evidence of physical cruelty, but it can’t have been pleasant for her. Talented in force use, she became something of a liability to her “owners” and was sent to Korriban. There she quickly gained favor with Darth Zash and was now in her entourage.

It seemed that this information was difficult to come by. She'd gone to great lengths to cover up her past. Conventional records were scrubbed. He’d had to access some pretty unusual databases to find anything on her. Luckily, the Empire was a paranoid organization as a whole, so people tended to keep information on just about anything you could imagine if one only knew where to look and had the slicing capability.  

Cipher Twelve knew where to look. He wasn't the only one, however. It seemed that the Academy on Korriban knew about her as well. The Sith Purebloods were a proud bunch. Someone had to have used it against her at some point, either to motivate or humiliate. Probably her instructors. Definitely her rivals. Maybe even Zash herself. He made a mental note to visit Korriban.

Cipher Twelve sat and thought about these two. They were both of them outcasts of a sort that could be influenced by the Cabal, which explains its interest in them.  The Cabal tended to attract the detritus that the Empire had cast aside. Most of the higher level Imperials were the rich and powerful who tended to use their power for personal gains and perpetuated petty infighting and pointless decadence. They were the reason the Empire was stagnating, practically eating itself from the inside. Zash was one of the worst. She only cared about herself and her reputation.

People such as Zash’s new apprentice and her lazy-eyed companion presumably hated the system that had created them, and as such, could become very useful tools in the right hands. The Pureblood in particular could be pushed into just about anything with the threat of her past going public. The more powerful she became, the more effective a weapon it would be. The real question mark was the swordsman. Someone would have to get to him and find out more. Where did his loyalties lie? How far would he be willing to go? What were his weaknesses?

Cipher Twelve checked through a few more of Korriban’s databases almost lazily, looking for something unusual among the mundane. He had a knack for picking out bits of information that seemed normal only to find something highly useful. He found it as he was just about to sign off: Shipping manifests from Kaas to the Academy. There were regular packages sent to this Ecanus. Stims, not that unusual for a warrior in training. But the Academy had their own supply sent from the fleet. Where were these coming from? Oh, interesting. Here was something that could motivate him. Cipher Twelve felt guilty for stooping so low. Maybe it wouldn't come to it if they played along. If not, there were few things more motivational than substance addiction.

Cipher Twelve began a report of a different sort than his regular check-in with Imperial command. This one was to his real masters about his findings. Hopefully soon he’d have another assignment and wouldn’t have to report to Face Woman again. He didn’t like the way she leered at him. As an afterthought he sent a missive to a cleaner of his that he'd used before after some particularly nasty wetwork. 

_Room needs cleaning. See to it. Sensitive. Address enclosed. Bill to my expense account ._

_-12_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to a friend for her Imperial Agent RP, which helped inform Cipher Twelve.


	6. Training

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ecanus attempts to train Sudol in lightsaber fighting. Jealous of his prowess, she wishes to improve her own. Can he handle a student like her?

“Again,” Ecanus said.

His smooth, businesslike tone annoyed Sudol almost as much as being dominated by him with the sword.  Ecanus held his practice blade out in a ready stance and waited, calm and unemotional.

Sudol, on the other hand, was on the verge of a total conniption. She hissed as she rose from the floor. Her joints and muscles loudly proclaimed where she had already been struck. Gritting her teeth, she struggled to her feet, trying to remember why she had suggested this in the first place. She stared daggers at the man across from her, her would-be instructor. She looked for any indication that he might be enjoying this. If he gave anything away, a smirk, a gleam in his eye, he’d pay dearly.

“Ready?” he asked.

Sudol nodded, her practice blade already in front of her. She had no idea how he could best her and still maintain such tight control of himself. The dark side of the force was all about abandoning oneself to one’s emotions. _There is no peace, only passion,_  and so forth.

Sudol readied herself and then immediately went on the offensive. She growled as she attacked, giving in to her hate; she hated how much she wanted to beat him, how impressively he confounded her every attempt. She'd lost count how many times they started from ready position, but this time ended much the same as the last dozen or so. After a flurry of blows, none of which Sudol had been able to land, she found herself flat on her back with a new bruise to add to the tally.

“Again,” Ecanus said with that same detestable tone.

 _This is your fault,_ she thought to herself _. You were the one tired of learning Shii-Cho forms, tired of training against droids. You were the one who wanted to spar with him. You were the one who said not to go ‘easy’ on you._

Slowly, she rose to her feet and stretched. Something in her back cracked loudly. She shot him another dirty look. If they were fighting with expressions, she’d have destroyed him long ago.

“Am I going too easy on you?” he asked. There it was. The hint of a smile, just there, at the corner of his mouth. He was enjoying this. How dare he.

“Sabers!” she demanded. His smile faded.

“Come again?” he asked.

She threw her practice blade across the room where it struck a large mirror, puncturing it through the center, leaving a spider’s web of cracks. Her hilt flew to her from where she had neatly laid out her gear on a bench by the door. She ignited it. Electricity crackled up her arms as the force responded to her blind fury.

“I am tired of your training swords,” she spat, “We will do this for real. This is not a joke. I am not amused. You will fight me, and you will do it well, or you will die.” To emphasize her seriousness she took a threatening posture, one of her favorite of the forms she’d bothered to learn.

She had his attention now. He looked as if she had slapped him. Good. She pressed her advantage and attacked.

He’d barely had time to get his own lightsaber. He tried to protest as she rushed him, but she wasn’t listening. To slow her down, he swung the training saber at her, which she neatly cut in two, and blocked her downswing with his lightsaber now in his off-hand. They traded a series of blows, he fighting left-handed, the air pulsing with fury, the thick smell of ozone from her lightning and the sabers clashing filling her senses. Her anger flowed in her and made her strong. She would not let him win.

He parried her and counter-attacked, throwing her off balance long enough to switch to his dominant hand. She regained her footing and struck again with new-found tenacity. He was visibly taxed keeping up with her. She tried a move that he’d used on her with the training blades, feinting one way and striking low. He was able to stop her blade, but she took the opportunity to shove him with the force. Using his own command of the force, he rode the momentum and landed as neatly as a cat.

“We said no force, only blades,” he protested.

She answered him with a lightning strike that hit him square in the thigh, driving him to one knee.

“That was before you mocked me,” she replied, and she was upon him again. He parried her, his superior skills with the sword saving him from a sound thrashing, but she had him on his heels now. He struggled to stay with her, his leg numb from the effect of her force lightning. Their blades locked, each pressing on the other, the shafts of light crackling as they fought. She released suddenly and he lost his balance. He left his defenses open for just a split second.

She punched him square in the nose with her bony left fist.

He staggered backward, stunned by her dainty (but still hard as stone) fist making contact with his face. She paused for a moment as he held his face, relishing the look of surprise as he saw the blood smeared across his palm. She waited for his eyes to meet hers and she was upon him again. She felt a tightness in her cheeks. She was smiling. She was winning.

Her smile faded fast, however. Something had switched in him. Either the element of surprise had worn off, or she had made him mad. Good. He deserved it for daring to take this lightly.

Now he pressed her and she retreated, keeping up with his attacks, but only just. Sweat dripped down her forehead. Both of them breathed heavily.

Something was different for her now as well. She was no longer filled with rage, but elation. He attacked faster than he had with the training blade, and somehow, she kept up. She looked at his face, blood covering his lips and chin from where she’d punched him. He wore a look of grim determination as he pressed his attack.

Sudol felt burning in her arm and wrist. She was tiring. She tried a feeble counterstrike and he turned it aside easily. Her defenses open now, he struck, and the tip of his saber grazed her before she could block it. Searing heat and pain shot through her shoulder. She fell to one knee, still holding her saber up to parry his next strike.

It never came.

Ecanus stood, blade at the ready, panting, sweat and blood dripping from his chin and cheeks.

“Yield,” he said. It was not a question.

Sudol rose to her feet, gently touching the wound at her shoulder. She could heal it herself, but for now, the pain was a novelty. Her eyes met his, and his countenance softened. He looked like he was about to say something. Before he could she closed the distance between them. Ecanus drew back, expecting another attack. She grasped his saber arm and turned it aside. With her other arm she embraced him.

She kissed him roughly, tasting blood and sweat, feeling his lips, wet, cool from his labored breath. For a few moments they stood locked together. Then, as quickly as she’d embraced him, she released him and walked to the training room door where towels were neatly stacked on a shelf. She took one and wiped her forehead. She wiped his blood from around her lips. She examined her shoulder in the mirror. A blackened gash showed through the melted cloth of her training shirt.

“You’ve given me something to think about here,” she said, as plainly as if it were everyday conversation. “This will scar.” When he didn’t respond she looked up. Reflected in the mirror she saw him, saber still lit, staring at her. The look on his face was one she hadn’t seen from him before. He was usually so reserved, cool, almost irritatingly so. Now, his face was screwed up like he had an equation he couldn’t solve. The blood dripping from his nose didn’t help. Crimson spots dotted the floor around him. The practice blades lie in ruins, one cloven in two, the other punctured through the shattered mirror. Seems she’d made a bit of a mess.

“What?” she asked.

“You’re insane,” he said, switching off his saber and wiping at his nose with the back of his hand. “Completely, totally, utterly insane.” He pinched the bridge of his nose and tilted his head forward, spitting blood on the floor.

She threw him a towel. “You need to clean up. I won’t be seen out in public with you like that.”

He caught the towel, and his eyes practically bugged out of his head. “OUT?” he stammered. “PUBLIC?”

“You’re taking me to dinner,” she declared. “After you’ve showered, of course.” She continued to towel off as she left and headed for the refresher, neatly lifting her things from the bench where she’d laid them. A grin spread across her face as she listened to the confused sputtering sounds he made as she left.


End file.
